


Violated

by AlphaDerekMakesMeDrool



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Isn't As Brave As He Lets On, Graphic Aftermath Of Rape, M/M, Sheriff Knows Something Is Wrong, Stiles Is Traumatised
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaDerekMakesMeDrool/pseuds/AlphaDerekMakesMeDrool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings Non-Consentual! Stiles has been attacked, violated , raped by an unlikely suspect. He has to deal with that trauma, but he has no idea how. He feels abandoned and betrayed, nothing can change that..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone And Troubled

Sheer luck had meant that his dad was at work, when he got in from school. From Detention! His face was streaked with tears and the sobs visibly racked his body, there was no way he could have hid that and didn't want anybody to know what took place that day. Dumping his backpack in the middle of the hall floor, he fled upstairs. The exertion bringing a fresh sting to the already tired and pained muscles in his legs, making his guts, already feeling liquified, feel like they were being sloshed around inside his body. Inside his body, it was inside his body and he needed to get it out. It wasn't welcome inside him! He suddenly felt like he was being invaded, it was unsettling. He felt like somehow he'd been claimed and he didn't like that at all.

Blood, vivid and red, darkened the water in the toilet. Of course there was blood, how could there not be blood. Pain gripped his Stomach and flowed intensely, unwaveringly through his guts. He could feel the cold, slimy trail, left on his leg by the semen that dripped from his insides. Damning evidence, but he wasn't thinking clearly. How could he think clearly, when he felt so dirty and so betrayed? Virgin status, no longer intact. Oh! How he wanted to change that. Now that it had been ripped so ruthlessly, so brutally from him, he wanted his virginity back. It was suddenly something special, more special to him than he could ever recall, and to no longer be able to give it to someone special, someone who actually cared about him, was a devastating blow. He felt broken, overwhelmed by the certainty that nobody would ever believe him.

He turned on the shower and stepped under the scalding stream of water, gasping in pain at the sudden change in temperature. He didn't adjust the water temperature though, hot water was his friend and it would destroy all the physical trace of that man's hands on his body. He grabbed shower gel and a loofah and lathered up his body, paying special attention to his private areas, as he diligently scrubbed his shame away the tears return. He tilted his face up to the water and let it wash away his tears, he was almost surprised he had any tears left to cry. 'Don't scream. Don't even cry or I'll beat you so hard, that all they'll find is a corpse' with the memory of the phrase, he started vigorously scrubbing his mouth. Trying to suppress the memory of the large hand clamped across it, to ensure his silence.

He stood under the water, letting it wash away the events of the day, until his pained legs gave out. Sliding slowly down the wall, he curled up under the pelting water and allowed the sobs of grief, or pain, or betrayal, or he really didn't know what he was feeling, wrack his body. He stayed there naked and vulnerable, until the water turned icy cold. He wrapped himself in one of the thick, cosy bath-sheets and gathered up his clothes. Black and Yellow Batman Boxer/Briefs, dark baggy skater Jeans, white long-sleeved t-shirt and a red and black plaid shirt. The things he worn today, that he'd never wear again. Still wrapped in the bath-sheet, he made his way the trashcan and threw the clothes in. Then he went up to his room and pulled on pair of blue check boxer shorts and a blue hoodie.

He zipped the hoodie and crawled into bed. He hoped it would be possible to erase this day from his mind, to pretend nothing that had happened was real. But everytime he closed his eyes, he could feel the man's fingertips on his skin. He could feel the warmth of the man's breath against his neck, he could feel the pain, the unbareable pain, as the man pushed his stiff penis inside him. He felt the breath being pushed out of him, by the force of penetration, he could hear his own voice begging for mercy. "Stop, please don't do this." he'd said as tears filled his eyes, he was sure he'd said that. "No, please, please! I'm a virgin please don't hurt me, please don't do this." he knew he'd said that. He knew, because he remembered the smirk on Mr Harris' face as he absorbed this knowledge and ignored his pleas.


	2. At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should put in a TRIGGER warning, I guess this chapter although it doesn't describe the rape in full. Probably contains enough detail to upset or offend some people. READ ON WITH CAUTION!!

"Mr Stilinski, is there something you'd like to add?"  
  
"Just a critique. I've read and highlighted this entire text book already and it's very interesting, but your delivery is too dry and you not engaging us, your subjects. Chemistry is fun and exciting, but you Mr Harris are neither."  
  
"Right that's it Stilinski, I've had enough of your smart-ass remarks for this week. Detention this afternoon and the rest of the week, don't bother going to Lacrosse practice."  
  
The rest of the class passed without incident, along with Lunch and English Lit. When the final bell rang Stiles returned to Mr Harris' classroom, he hadn't even bothered fighting Harris on his latest Detention sessions. Experience had taught him, although he'd been slow on the uptake and still forgot sometimes, that resistance was not only futile but frequently made situation worse. He knocked the door and waited for a response, as he was waiting he saw Harris approaching the room and stood up straighter. Harris took out his keys and unlocked the door granting them both access, he walked in ahead of Stiles and waited by the door. Stiles failed to notice Harris locking the door behind them.  
  
"Right Mr Stilinski, you can help me set up the apparatus for first period tommorrow."  
  
Stiles shrugged and watched as Harris set up the apparatus for an experiment, he then gathered up the appropriate items and proceeded to set up the same experiment at the next station. He continued his appointed task without interruption, until he was grabbed, the Conical Flask he'd been holding shattered on impact with the floor. Harris held him with a strength that his lanky, skinny frame didn't seem capable of possessing. Stiles fought to get free from Harris' grip, but for some reason Harris was over-powering him with ease. Harris forcibly slammed Stiles, head first, in one of the workstation benches. Dazed and injured Stiles fell to the floor, as he struggled to get to his feet Harris pinned him, holding a broken shard of glass, from the Conical Flask, to his throat.  
  
"Since you started here I've wondered what it would take to shut that smart mouth of yours. I had one idea for keeping you quiet, but under the circumstances I don't think I can trust you not to bite. So I guess I'll just have to put your other hole to good use."  
  
Stiles struggled against Harris' inhumanly strong grip, made every effort to fight back, the older man just held him in place and waited for him to tire himself out. Stiles whimpered weakly, feeling something, vaguely aware that Harris was undoing his belt and pulling down his trousers. He felt the warmth of Harris' hand against his skin, but it wasn't a good, gentle or loving touch. It was rough and hungry and made Stiles' skin crawl, made him feel disgusting, triggered the urge to fight back. He tried, but all he could do was buck his hips and flail ineffectively. Harris' grip was like bear trap, heavy and inescapable. Harris used the broken shard of glass, pushing deep enough into Stiles' skin to draw blood and using his now free hand to cover Stiles' mouth when the gasp of pain and fear came.  
  
"Don't scream, don't even cry or I'll beat you so hard that all they'll find is a corpse."

* * *

John Stilinski snuggled down under his bed clothes, it had been an exhausting day. Beacon Hills animal attack statistics had always been significantly higher than the national average, but they seemed to be truly out of hand these days. His head hit the pillow, but his mind was on overdrive and sleep wasn't going to come easy tonight. Just as he started dosing off a loud scream rang through the house. It came from Stiles' room. John was awake, he grabbed his gun and was running down the landing with in seconds. Stiles was still screaming when John burst through his bedroom door, gun ready to incapacitate any potential intruder. But Stiles was alone in his darkened room, sitting on the bed screaming. He appeared to have woken up from a bad dream.  
  
John flicked on the light and approached Stiles bed, he sat down and reached out a comforting hand to his son. John finger had barely reached Stiles' arm, when Stiles flinched away and scrambled to move further down the bed, away from John. John notice the tears in Stiles' eyes and the dark, angry bruises on his wrists, then he noticed the vicious, scabby cut on Stiles' neck. Stiles whimpered helplessly and pinned himself against the headboard, his knees were drawn up into his chest and he seemed to actively be trying to appear small. John reached out to comfort his son again and noticed as Stiles' eyes focused on his hand, he watched as terror spread accross his face. John had never raised his hand to Stiles and he wasn't about to start now, Stiles had no reason to be this scared of his own father.  
  
"Please don't touch me, please. I don't want this, it hurts please, please I don't like it. It Hurts, It Hurts! Please not again, not again. Don't touch me, please don't touch me."  
  
John watched in alarm as Stiles pleaded with him, his voice rough from screaming, sounding pitifully helpless and utterly broken. Stiles started to cry harder, heavy sobs racked his body and John noticed where Stiles' boxer shorts and sheets had darkened. Stiles had wet himself. John recalled how quickly Stiles had been potty trained as a toddler, he was all too aware that the last time Stiles wet the bed was when he was told his mother was dead. If it hadn't already been apparent, it was now brutally obvious that something traumatic had happened to Stiles. John had been in law enforcement long enough that he could analyse Stiles' behaviour and come up with only one outcome, he couldn't bring himself to admit that Stiles had been raped. No matter how true he knew it to be.  
  
So reached out, ignoring Stiles' pleas, and pulled Stiles into a tight embrace. Stiles wriggled and fought hard making every effort to pull away, but John couldn't let him go, wouldn't let him go. His son needed comfort and hugging him, whilst saying reassuring thing was the only way he knew how to do that. All his training abandoned him. He couldn't sit cold and vacant, agreeable and approachable while Stiles was fighting for a way cope. His son was fighting a losing battle, struggling for a way to process and deal with this horrible thing that had happened to him. There was no way in hell John was going to let Stiles do that on his own, even at his most stupid and reckless John had Stiles back, as much as he could with bringing his competency as Sheriff into question, this would be no different.  
  
"Shhh Baby Boy, it's only me. It's dad and I don't want to hurt you, I just wanna take the pain away."  
  
"Shh it's OK Baby Boy, I love you and I'll protect you."  
  
"I'm here, you don't have to be afraid now."  
  
John whispered gently to Stiles, in the softest most reassuring tone of voice he could muster. Watching as Stiles slumped heavily in his arms, not asleep but simply too tired to keep up whatever fight he'd been waging against John's arms and his own inner turmol. He'd stay here with Stiles. He knew that trying to change Stiles' boxers, would make Stiles feel vulnerable and probably put them right back to square one. So he supported the now dead weight of his barely conscious son and passed the time, by plotting elaborate way to torture and kill Stiles' attacker. He knew he shouldn't be investigating his own son's attack, to close to be impartial and unattached, his deputies were good, but this was too important to entrust to them with. He wanted the best he had working on this, that was himself, he wanted to find the person who destroyed his son and he wanted to make them pay.


	3. Uncertainty

"Yes, Mr Flutie - I do realise your only acting Principal until such times as Mr Argent returns, or the school board appoint a new Principal. But I'm a busy man and you appear to be mistaking me for somebody who cares. My son Stiles Stilinski has been assaulted on or near school premises and he won't be returning to your fine establishment, until his assailant is brought to justice or his behaviour indicates, to me, that he's ready to return. That's my position as a parent and I stand by it, even if it means Stiles has to repeat the year."  
  
John hung up and groaned, he was aware that he'd been an obnoxious ass. He barely gave Mr Flutie a chance to speak, he wasn't going to let some bureaucratic pencil-pushing educator determine was best for Stiles. He was doing his best in all of this to preserve Stiles' dignity, he hadn't mentioned the bed wetting or the screaming, but that was at least partly because he wanted to forget those things. He wanted to be less certain what had happened to Stiles, he wished for doubt, because that would mean that Stiles on some level was still the smart-ass, chatterbox kid who looked younger than he actually was.  
  
Instead Stiles was broken and John was going to do everything in his power to fix Stiles. When he found the prepetrator of Stiles' assault he'd but a bullet in their head.  
  
Stiles shuffled into the Kitchen wearing baggy sweat pants and an even baggier hoodie. John forced the fact that Stiles would ordinarily come down for breakfast in a t-shirt and baggy plaid boxers to the back of his mind, he put plate of eggs and bacon down in front of Stiles and watched, completely disheartened, as Stiles pushed the food around his plate. It was a vague gesture, it lacked any real sort of energy, in reality it didn't even appear to come from distraction or lack of appetite. It was just a way for Stiles to kill time until the Sheriff went to work.  
  
John had tried to take the day off, but Stiles insisted he'd be fine, as much as it's possible to insist when you're speaking so little, you make Derek Hale look like a great conversationalist. As much as it pained him, John didn't press the issue - understanding how damaging it could be for Stiles to face his demons before his mind was ready. He quietly prayed that he'd still have a son when he came home that evening, pushing to the back of his mind the multitude of images of Stiles' broken body. John desperately tried to find something to focus on, instead of imagining the noose fashioned from bedsheets or the bathtub filled with blood.

* * *

After his father left Stiles trudged upstairs and switched on the shower, stepping into the stream he allowed the water to scald him yet again. Stiles' father had never struck him, in all these years, he'd certainly never touched him in a manner, that even remotely resembled something sexual. But the closeness that came with physical contact, was a burden and Stiles needed to be free of it. He needed to remove all traces of his father's touch. Stiles knew his father was only trying to comfort him and didn't know any other way, as a child Stiles had always found comfort in hugs and held hands, however in the darkest recesses of his subconscious Stiles feared the strong hands on his shoulders. He couldn't escape the imagined terror of those hands wandering lower, or the imagined pain of the thick fingers pushing their, unwelcome, way inside him.  
  
When the water started running cold Stiles returned to his bedroom. He tugged on enough clothes to conceal his physical form, he knew he feel safer once he was cocooned in heavy, shapeless fabric. Baggy Plaid boxer shorts, running shorts and baggy sweat pants hid his legs, while his torso was hidden under multiple layers of t-shirts and a baggy and completely shapeless hoodie. He collapsed on to his bed and desperately tried to rid himself of the mental echoes, he had no desire to recall Harris' voice or touch or anything about him. Stiles had put up no fight on the issue of remaining off school. But getting his dad to go into work had been exhausting, against his will he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

* * *

Derek climbed silently through Stiles' window, his feet fell noiselessly on the plush dark carpet and then he was assaulted by Stiles' scent.  
  
He'd known Stiles was home could smell him and decided he could pass off being here, under the pretense of needing Stiles to do research. He came to Stiles' room everyday and lazed in the scent of the mate, who he was keeping in the dark about being his mate. Ordinarily he wouldn't have gone into Stiles' room, unless he genuinely needed him to do research but this was important, Stiles should be at school and since he wasn't Derek needed to know why. Something in Stiles' scent, (delicious with Vanilla, Honey, Turkish Delight and the light muskiness unique to Stiles) had changed.  
  
But Derek couldn't say what it was for sure, because the air was thick with the heavy metallic stench of anger and betrayal.  
  
He watched as Stiles slept, he was buried in layers of fabric and his position was practically fetal. It concerned Derek that the smell of Stiles' anger lingered, usually sleeping dulled the scents of even the most powerful emotions. He crossed the room with his usual werewolf stealth and sat in the desk chair, Stiles was pack, he was Derek's mate and Derek would get answers. He needed to know what was troubling Stiles, it was his job, as both an Alpha and a mate, to help the pack with any problems that they had. So he waited patiently, watching with fondness, as Stiles slept.  
  
He could hardly believe that Stiles could remain so still. If wasn't for his heartbeat and the almost imperceptible motion of his chest rising and falling, Derek would actually believe that Stiles was dead. A panicked moan escaped Stiles lips but he didn't wake up. Derek wondered what Stiles was dreaming about, when he heard another distressed moan he deduced that it wasn't a good dream. Luckily that was a problem that was easy to solve, Derek stood and reached out his hand, gently shaking Stiles awake. Stiles looked confused for a second. After he processed that Derek was in his room, he pounded his fists against Derek's chest and sobbed.  
  
"You didn't save me, I needed you and you didn't save me. Nobody saved me, nobody cared."  
  
For a moment Derek thought Stiles was taking about his dream, had he dreamt he was in trouble and Derek didn't save him. How could he possibly think that he didn't mean anything to the pack, he was good friends with most of them and it had been weeks, possibly even months, since Derek had forced him into a wall. That was essential, since close proximity to Stiles created arousal and Derek didn't want to force himself on anybody, especially Stiles. Derek gripped Stiles' wrists to stop him from beating them against his chest, it was a mistake and there was no way Derek could have predicted Stiles reaction.  
  
"Don't touch me, don't touch me. Please don't touch me, I'm sorry, don't touch me."  
  
Stiles continued pleading, but he wasn't just asking Derek to release him. He was panicking and it wasn't just a panic attack, his breathing was irratic and voice had an edge to it. Like he was trying to tell Derek something, but Derek would have to figure it out, he'd have to break the code. Derek's instincts kicked in, his desire to please his mate rushed to the forefront and he released Stiles' wrists, because that was what his mate desired. Stiles pushed himself off the bed and backed into a corner, he shifted his gaze to the floor and slid down the wall. He gripped his knees and started sobbing, it wasn't the chesty sob that escaped when Stiles had first woken up.  
  
It was competely different heavy and deep, forced out of Stiles body while he struggled to find breath. Tears ran in rivulets down his face.  
  
"Stiles what happened? I can't fix it if you don't tell me. Stiles, what is it? I want to help you, but I can't unless you tell me how."


	4. One Day At A Time

"Beacon County Sheriff's Department has requested that all Beacon Hills High School students attend an emergency assembly today." The annoucement squawked out over the Public Address System.  
  
"Well that's weird, hey Danny have you seen Stiles yet today."  
  
"No Scott, I'm just his lab partner. You're supposed to be his friend, so you need to start keeping better track of him."  
  
"Hey Scott." Allison said brightly, as she kissed Scott lightly on the cheek. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing major, just Stiles is a no show."  
  
"Mr Stilinski isn't in today, I guess I'll have to reschedule his detentions."  
  
"Mr Harris, do you know why the Sheriff's department are holding a special assembly?"  
  
"No Miss Argent, I have no idea. Shouldn't you all be in home room?"

* * *

"Stiles, I can't help you if I don't know how."  
  
Stiles cowered in the corner, his sobs had quietened and his raw, red, bloodshot eyes stared questioningly at Derek. When Derek reached out to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, Stiles shrugged away. Making it clear that physical contact was unwanted, if people wouldn't comply when he asked them not to touch him, then he would keep them from touching him. Derek hunkered down in front of Stiles, he managed to refrain from rest a hand on Stiles' knee after the noticed the icy death glare Stiles shot at him. It was clear Stiles was in distress, his reaction to physical contact made it apparent that he'd been involved in some sort of physical altercation. But Derek couldn't smell another person's scent on him, in fact not the he was trying to scent the person who hurt Stiles, he noticed that he couldn't even smell the Pack on Stiles anymore.  
  
"Stiles you don't smell like Pack."  
  
"I showered!" Stiles snapped.  
  
"OK, I know something's wrong. I wish I knew what, but I'll be there when you're ready to talk. I know you don't think so, but you are Pack and it's my job as Alpha to sort out your problems. If you're... ya know unable to sort them out yourself."  
  
"You wouldn't believe me, nobody will ever believe me."  
  
"Stiles, I'll always believe you. I'll hear it in your heartbeat, remember."  
  
Stiles shrugged, a clear indication that he wasn't going to talk about what had happened, so Derek strode back over to the window and climbed out. He couldn't be with Stiles, while depression hung so heavily over his head. Not if Stiles couldn't talk about his problems and enable Derek to fi them, or at least comfort him while he got his head back on straight. Derek crossed the street, shifting into his beta form as he past the tree line, he dropped to all-fours and ran. Without a scent there was nothing he could do, without a name, which only Stiles could provide, it was hopeless. All he could do was run, expell some of his energy, maybe punch holes in walls in the hope his anger might dissapate. He could maybe use his Alpha voice, command Peter to let him punch him in the face. But those were only temporary measures, he was the Alpha and his mate was both physical hurt and upset, his only real solution was to find the culprit and make them pay.

* * *

"Hello! I'm Sheriff Stilinski, which I'm sure you all already know."  
  
The sea of faces in front of him, remained blank and epressionless.  
  
"Anyway, there has been a serious physical assault on a Beacon Hill High student. This means that the Sheriff's department will be carrying out an investigation and your full co-operation will be required. Along with questioning the faculty and student body, taking statements and such, students are being advised not to go anywhere alone. Stay with your friends, make sure to be in a group of at least two at all times. There is no curfew in place at present, for now this is an isolated incident, but your help and viliglance will be required to keep the offender from becoming a serial offender."  
  
The sea of faces in front of him, was suddenly more animated and lively probably discussing the new develop either as gossip or in a manner that might actually prove helpful.  
  
"Thank you for your time, there will be deputies in the school tomorrow to take statements. If you wish to give information before then, come and see me at the Sheriff's office after school and please don't go anywhere alone."

* * *

"Mr Stilinski."  
  
"Scott, it's Sheriff Stilinski just now. I'm on duty."  
  
"Sorry, but it's important. Is Stiles OK, he's not in today, it was him who got attacked wasn't it?"  
  
"Scott, Stiles is very upset right now. You can't tell anybody. I'm keeping him off school and they'll get suspicious, eventually on their own. I'd like to spare him the gossip for as long as possible."  
  
"Is it bad? I mean, was it definitely a person or was it like those weird animal attacks, that you pretend nobody's aware of."  
  
"SCOTT!"  
  
"Sorry Sheriff, but he's my friend and I know I haven't been a great friend lately. Is it OK if I skip Lacrosse practice and check in on him after school?"  
  
"Actually, Scott that would be great, maybe he'll actually speak with you. Provide some information that will be help. Right at the minute all I can do is try and build a case, but what I really wanna do is put a bullet in the bastard's Brain. Sorry.. I shouldn't be bothering you with this Scott, please forget I said anything. Call for Stiles this afternoon, I'm sure he'll be glad to see you or something."  
  
"What do you mean, or something?"  
  
"Scott, I'm not going to discuss the details with you, I'd like to preserve Stiles' dignity. But his assault was really bad, he's pretty traumatsed at the minute and he may not seem like himself."  
  
"OK Sheriff, I understand, I'll keep him company and try and help him get back to normal."

"Thanks Scott!"

**Author's Note:**

> **There's a point I want to make, that being I've never been raped. But that's only because I was strong enough to fight back, even though I very nearly wasn't. I sometimes wonder how I would have felt and how I would have dealt with the situation, if I'd been less fortunate. This story is a response to that..**


End file.
